The Synthesizing of Happiness And Everything Else
by IntroToLit
Summary: Sam and Addison's first time. There might be a deeper meaning, but mostly it's just smut.


They've known each other for almost twenty years, but somehow Sam's only realizing now how little they've actually touched. Kissed, yeah, and he's stroked her face and held her hand and her arms, but _touching_, skin on skin, not so much. And now, as he's running one palm up her bare back, now that just seems crazy because her skin is so soft, fine almost delicate, and warm too, and she smells like the ocean air and like Addison. Sliding his hand from her back, over her shoulder, to the base of her neck to pull her closer, Sam keeps touching, feeling, memorizing as his fingers trace over the soft skin and muscle and bones and he encounters along the way. His other hand falls from where it was toying with the silky ends of her hair down to her hip, slipping just under the waistband of her underwear, and yeah clothes definitely have to go because this skin on skin thing, Addison's skin, touching Addison, might just be the best sensation in the world and Sam wants more of it, wants it forever. Because just touching her and kissing her is making all the bad stuff go away, and there has been a _lot_ of bad stuff, yesterday and this whole year and as far back as he can remember really, but somehow Addison's fixing him.

Her hands move from the back of his neck down to the bottom of his wife-beater and he knows in a second they're going to have to break contact as she tugs it off so he compensates by pulling her closer and kissing her deeper. When his shirt is off, Sam wraps his arms around her and holds her tight against him, just for a moment, Addison's breath echoing in his ear, Addison's hands gripping onto his shoulders, Addison's breasts pressing against his chest. Then Sam notices the proximity of her neck, long and pale and elegant, to his mouth, so he brushes her hair away and closes the gap, kissing, tonguing, tasting, grazing his teeth over a particularly sensitive spot that made Addison shudder when his lips first pressed against it.

She's relaxing into him, her hands roaming over his biceps and her nails digging into his skin as he passes over her collarbone. Addison arches her back at the contact, allowing her breasts to rise up on her chest, and he has to pause what he's doing just to look at her, her eyes shut and skin flushed, and he can't believe he's seeing her like this. She's so beautiful, but it's more than just that. It's _Addison_. Realizing he's stopped trailing his mouth across her skin, she gazes back down at him, and he takes the opportunity to tangle his hands in her hair and capture her lips again, the taste of her tongue mixing with the taste of her skin.

One of his hands finds its way up to her breast, fingers exploring the gentle curve and the rosy bud before grasping it more firmly. Addison gasps into his mouth and her hand comes up to cover his, keeping it in place as his thumb moves over her nipple, rubbing, teasing, as it slowly hardens and Addison's fingers curl down over his wrist.

She's squirming, and the part of his brain that's not concerned with the fact that his mouth is now currently tonguing her other nipple or that her hand that's not pressing his harder against her cup of her breast is resting dangerously high up on his thigh, recognizes the fact that she's been straddling him for some time now. He should make good on his word, should take her up to his bedroom and kiss and tongue and thrust within silky sheets and dimmed lights but that would means he would need to stop kissing, stop tonguing now, and even if it would be just for a second he's been wanting this for so long that even the twenty seconds it would take to carry her upstairs would be painfully, excruciatingly long. So somehow, they end up on the floor, awkwardly splayed out in between the couch and the table, and if Sam were thinking he'd be thinking about the open glass door, or the fact that he hasn't slept in close to two days, or even rug burn maybe because when he absent-mindedly picked this carpet three days after Naomi threw him out he hadn't been concerned with selecting for this particular kind of comfort, but Sam's not thinking, he's touching. Touching and trying to figure out how he could be so wrong when he thought it wasn't possible to be any more in love than he already was.

She's bashful.

Bashful in a losing-your-virginity kind of way, bashful in way that she's never been before even when he _was_ losing her virginity (not that there had been much of a chance to be back then; as she recalls, Skippy had somehow managed to unhook her bra though a sweater _and_ a jacket, pull down her cotton panties, and just start going to town). And her first time with Derek she hadn't been shy because in the months leading up to it they'd fooled around in other ways pretty frequently, and with Mark she was too drunk and sad and reckless to worry about anything else but straight up adultery and after that, well, she just figured she was too jaded to really be bashful about sex anymore.

It's pretty ridiculous to claim bashfulness when she's pretty much entirely unclothed and lying completely under him, but it's true. Every new inch his lips move over sets her skin aflame and her heart aflutter, and she gets even wetter. But then her fingers inch closer to the button on her jeans and she stats blushing and her breath catches in her throat.

It's just, it's _Sam_. And there will be that moment, that moment of changing everything forever, like losing your virginity, like stepping into adulthood and altering close of twenty years of friendship and history and reliance and comfortable familiarity away. Forever. So yeah, blushing (It's not that she doesn't want to. In fact her body is growing increasingly cross with her that she hasn't gotten this thing on the road already, and her nipples are hard and agonizingly sensitive to even just his warm breath passing over them, replaced quickly by the palms of his hands as he makes his way back up to the crook of her neck.

He grins at her. "Hi," Addison whispers tracing one finger down his face, across his jaw line.

"Hey," he mumbles back, nuzzling his face into hers.

"I'm – a little nervous," she admits ruefully, closing her eyes, and god they might as well be a couple of teenagers necking behind the football stadium.

"We don't have to – tonight, if you don't…."

"No, I do," she reassures, snaking one leg around his calf and guiding his lips back to her neck as confirmation. "I just," her train of thought is momentarily distracted by Sam's teeth grazing over her earlobe, "Oh god… wanted you to know."

He's about to say something gentlemanly, something like _We can go slow_, or _We'll take our time_, but then Addison's hand unexpectedly travels down, cupping him through his jeans, exploring his length through the rough material, and screw it, he's not going to worry about doing the right thing or saying the right thing because in the end this is just going to be them and it's going to be perfect. He's so fucking hard, harder than he can ever remember being, and she's barely touched him yet. Throughout his tasting of her newly exposed flesh, curves, moles, mounds, he'd been pretty damn stiff, but moment her fingers fluttered over him – her eyes keep flickering back and forth from his face to her hand, watching his every reaction and expression, and Sam's decided from now on she can do whatever the hell she wants to with him, if it means feeling anyway as amazing as he feels now, having her hesitantly gripping him through the crotch of his pants. Then her other hand comes down and she swiftly undoes his button and zipper, and as he helps her strip him down to his briefs her hips lift slightly and his head presses into her thigh and Sam could explode any second, he really could.

Addison's breath catches in her throat the second his warm tongue presses confidently in between her legs, plunging deeper, reaching, dipping, swirling. By the time his hand joins his mouth, stretching her opening with first one finger, then two, then three, thrusting, widening, the palm of his other hand pressing down on her hipbone, keeping her in place, she's gasping and squirming and her head is throbbing from when she threw it back in a particularly intense rush of pleasure and it knocked against the wooden floor (not that she noticed really, not that even if she had it wouldn't have still been totally fucking worth it). There's a good chance she's pleading too, as her thighs clench in ecstatic tension, but she can't really hear what she's saying to him because her heartbeat is pounding in her ears and her blood is rushing to her face and clit, and _God yes_ she feels that, and _don't stop, _and then as her first orgasm finally rushes over her, his name flows out of her again and again, as his lips land against hers once more.

Her head is still spinning and clouded when her hand reaches down to pull down his briefs, and of course like everything else about him his cock is strong, and big, and would be intimidating if it was anyone else but Sam. Between the moans and the begging and the whispered reassurances, Sam covers her back with his body and she braces herself against the floor, and with his right hand intertwined with hers, and his left hand pressing against her stomach holding her steady, and his lips on her mouth and her cheek and her neck and her ear, with every nerve on her body screaming and pounding, he pushes into her.

As he thrusts into her, slowly at first, then with more power and purpose as Addison arches her back allowing him in deeper, Sam's completely gone because anything else in the world besides this is complete bullshit and nonsense, because this is perfection, this is happiness crystallized in a single second, and every comforting thought he's been repeating to himself over the past couple of months, the stuff about friends being better than nothing, about how moving on is possible, about how nothing is worth this much stress and angst and trouble, was just wrong stuff, stupid stuff. This is worth everything. Not just because of the sex, not just because of the noises she's making, the agonizingly arousing moans and gasps, not just because every time she clenches around him and every second he spends buried in her, is the sweetest, hottest, tightest, most breathtakingly beautiful moment of his life, but because it's Addison. Because even when he's not having sex with her, it's Addison. Because she's here, and she's gorgeous, and she's his best friend in the entire fucking world, and if he ever thought he could spend his life doing anything else but this, he's the stupidest man who ever lived (except, of course, for Derek).

He's everywhere, it feels like. His breath is on her neck, his groans are echoing in her ear, and while his body is wrapped around hers and his hand is moving from her stomach to her breast to her clit and he's thrusting inside her reaching places and triggering spots that, is it possible, have never been reached before, but his other hand hasn't moved since he first entered her. It's still covering the hand that's steadying herself against the floor, gripping the carpet, and his thumb is gently stoking her wrist. She can feel that. With everything else, she can feel his thumb stroking her wrist.

Addison whimpers when she feels him pull out, all the way this time, except then Sam turns her gently on her back before kissing her deeply and pushing in again, pulling her thigh up around his hip and waist. Then Sam pulls out and pushes in once more, then another time, then another and another, until Addison stops paying attention to anything but the body clenching in glorious, passionate anticipation, and then letting go entirely with scream as Sam releases himself into her, her body seizing up, holding him as closely and deeply as possibly, as he murmurs her name in her ear.

There will be problems later. There might be some awkwardness the first time they're alone together in the office, and Dell's funeral will be hellishly painful, and Naomi will have a stroke when she finds out, and Addison's heart will break every time she sees Pete and Violet's new family, and she still can't have kids, and Maya is still in the hospital, and Sam's still a grandpa, and Betsey's an orphan, and Bizzy's a lesbian, and Mark and Derek will undoubtedly have some perverted and self-righteous things to throw into the mix when they find out, but its okay.

Well, not okay.

But they'll be happy. And as of this moment, for Sam and Addison happiness and not okayness due to potentially everything else are no longer mutually exclusive.


End file.
